The Boy Who Has No Hope (Soulless Book 6)

by Victoria Quinn

  “Actually, Emerson emailed me with the link.”

  “What?” I turned back to him, surprised Emerson had done that without telling me.

  “I’m glad she did. You were great, Derek.” He lifted his gaze and glanced at me, looking at me with that beam of pride that hit me right in the face like sunshine on a summer day. A smile formed on his lips, like he was reliving the interview in his mind. “I couldn’t believe her email until I saw it myself. Everything you said about the Odyssey…the way you spoke about me…” He dropped his gaze and looked at his beer, spinning it in his fingers like he was reading the label.

  “I meant it.”

  He inhaled a deep breath as an emotional smile came onto his lips. “I know you did.” He set the beer down again and glanced at me once more, looking at me in a whole new way, staring at me like it’d been decades since we’d last seen each other. “You took my advice with Emerson.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to what he said because it wasn’t a question, more of a statement, like he already knew what happened between her and me—even though she would never tell my father that. “Yeah.”

  He gave a slight nod. “I thought so. You’re happy…and I haven’t seen you happy in a really long time. It’s like all your baggage has left your shoulders, like you can be you again, because you let someone in again.”

  I had let her in…and I was happy.

  “That makes me really happy, Derek. Your mother too.”

  I grabbed my beer and took a drink. “We’re taking it slow right now. I told her in time I would build up to her daughter.”

  “When that day comes, I’m sure it will be fine. Look at you and your mother.”

  “But I’m not as kind as—”

  “Yes, you are.” He gave me a firm look. “Look how you’re changing—all because of her. In months, a year, you’ll be a different man, and you’ll be ready. It’s not scary to love Emerson, so it won’t be scary to love her daughter.”

  I stared at my beer, imagining that young girl who looked identical to Emerson. Most people my age didn’t even have kids yet, and Emerson had a daughter who was almost an adult. I was young when Cleo came into my life, and once she was there, she was always there.

  “The four of us should have dinner together.”

  “So you can embarrass me?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Come on, that’s my job.” He smiled again, looking at me fondly. “We’d like to spend time with the two of you. I want to get to know her better, to thank her for making my son happy.”

  “God, you better not say that to her.”

  “Like she doesn’t already know, little man. So, how about Saturday?”

  The relationship between my father and me already felt different, and since he wasn’t the one who had changed, that meant I was the one who did. There used to be a melancholy haze over my gaze, a coldness that went all the way into my bones, but now I’d burned off the fog and saw life in a different spectrum of color. She cleansed my heartache, destroyed my pessimism. “I’m not sure. Since our relationship is a secret, it’s hard for her to get out of the house without lying.”

  “She’s really trying to protect her daughter, huh?” He nodded. “Sounds like a good mom.”

  “She said she doesn’t want Lizzie to know about me for a while because she’s afraid she’ll get attached to me.”

  He nodded. “I understand. We can always make a different day work if that’s easier for her. Your mother and I are really excited about her, Derek.”

  I closed my eyes and released a long sigh. “Shit…”

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t know Mom is Cleo…” Up until this point, Cleo was just the woman who trained Emerson to work for me. I had to tell her Cleo was actually my mom before we all had dinner together. Otherwise, it would completely catch her off guard and ruin the night.

  “Forgot about that.”

  “Let me talk to her, and I’ll let you know.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Derek.”

  I felt guilty for lying to her when I’d made a big scene about Lizzie. But my mom had wanted to protect my privacy, to make the whole situation easier for everyone. Neither one of us expected Emerson and me to be together at some point down the road. “Yeah…”

  The situation with Pierre never improved.

  He didn’t speak to me again.

  We collaborated when necessary, but there was never eye contact, and it was always tense.

  I’d assumed the discomfort would die down in a week or so, but it seemed to get worse and worse. There was no way in hell I was going to apologize, so that wasn’t an option. But I didn’t know what to do because I didn’t want to work with a colleague who hated me, and I didn’t want to fire him either.

  I’d been so focused on the parts in my hand that I hadn’t noticed Emerson standing across from me at the table.

  “Derek?”

  I lifted my gaze, my thoughts destroyed by the beautiful sound of her voice. My eyes immediately went to her bright-blue eyes, the eyes that turned watery when she hit her threshold and writhed underneath me, leaving this earth and traveling somewhere I couldn’t follow. “Yes, baby?”

  She flinched slightly at the nickname since we were in the lab. “Call me Emerson.”

  I set down the parts on the table. “No.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “I’m not being defiant. I just can’t control the spontaneity. That’s what your name is to me.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone so I could show her the name in my phone book. I’d changed it from Emerson to Baby.

  Her eyes softened at my actions, but she retained her professional look since Jerome and Pierre were nearby. “Can we talk in private?”

  I left my things behind and joined her in the office. The windows were nice because I could see the activities of the lab from my desk, but now I wished there were no windows at all. I faced her, my hands sliding into my front pockets as I stared at her, seeing her in the loose sweater dress and black tights with booties underneath.

  “Pierre just put in a transfer. He wants to work in a different lab.” She extended the papers to me so I could see the request myself.

  I dropped my gaze and read through the paperwork, offended that he wanted to walk away after we’d been working together for years—because of a woman. I closed the folder and handed it back to her.

  Emerson studied my gaze. “What do you want me to do?”

  “The whole thing is fucking stupid.”

  “What happened, Derek?”

  I looked out the window and watched him work beside Jerome, clear glasses on his nose to protect his eyes from flying shards. “He’s made a lot of inappropriate comments about you, and I lost my temper…basically. Then I told him we were together, so he needed to keep his mouth shut.”

  Emerson had no reaction, like a man’s obsession was something she was used to.

  “So, I’m not going to apologize. But I don’t want to fire him either.”

  She looked out the window to stare at him for a moment before she turned back to me. “Do you want to relocate him?”

  Another engineer would have to step in, and we’d have to get them up to speed on what we were working on. It would be much easier to keep Pierre, but with this tense relationship, it would affect our work. “Not particularly.”

  “Then let me talk to him.”

  “Why? This isn’t your problem.”

  “Sometimes, a woman’s touch is required. Let me have a one-on-one with him.”

  I still didn’t need someone else to fight my battles.

  She studied my unease. “Derek, we both know you aren’t the most diplomatic person. You say what you don’t mean sometimes, and when you do say what you mean, it can be harsh…and a little cruel. Let me handle it.”

  I had faith she could do anything, so I gave a slight nod.

  She smiled before she walked out.

  When we were in the Escalade, I asked
her about it. “What happened?”

  “Smoothed things over. I think he was just embarrassed by the whole thing.”

  “He should be embarrassed.”

  “And maybe a little jealous. You know, that you got me in the end.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like he had a chance.”

  “Come on, don’t be mean.”

  “Well, he didn’t,” I snapped. “Right?”

  “No. But that’s because I already had my eye on someone else…” She looked out the window and sidestepped what she’d said.

  She didn’t need to sidestep it because it was music to my ears. “You told my dad about my TED Talk?”

  She stilled at the question, like she knew she was in deep water. After a few seconds of staring out the window, she turned back to me. “As a parent who wants to witness every single moment of their child’s life, I felt compelled to say something…especially after all the touching things you said about him. Thought he should know because I suspect you’ve never said that to his face.”

  No, I hadn’t.

  When she saw the affection in my gaze, she knew she wasn’t in trouble. “It meant the world to him…trust me on that.”

  “It did.” And my happiness meant even more to him. “He wants the four of us to have dinner together on Saturday night.”

  “He does?” Instead of seeming uncomfortable, like meeting my parents was too soon since we’d only been together for a couple weeks, she actually seemed excited, like dinner with my family was something to look forward to. “I’ll work something out with my mom, tell her I’m doing something for work.”

  “We can do a different day if that’s easier.”

  “No, I know your dad is busy during the week. If he’s anything like you, weekends are preferable.”

  I had to tell her the truth about my mom, but I didn’t want to do it in the car with Ronnie just feet away. I kept it to myself.

  She continued to stare at me. “Have you looked at the comments on your video?”

  I gave her a blank stare.

  “Well, there’s a lot of positivity on there.”

  I never Googled myself. I never wondered what people had to say about me. If I could have it my way, I’d be a nobody.

  “And the inbox is exploding.”

  “With?”

  “A lot of things—fan mail, students inquiring about internship opportunities, other interviews, stuff like that.”

  I’d already done one and wasn’t eager to jump on the next.

  “Have you ever considered writing an autobiography?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to write a whole book about myself. That sounds terrible.”

  She chuckled. “I disagree, but I get it.”

  Having her at my side every day made me feel like I was with a best friend, that I could be myself with her all hours of the day, turn to her for her personal issues and professional ones as well. I was always committed to my job, but she made me love it even more…because she was a part of it. My hand reached for hers, and I held it on the center console, my thumb gliding over her delicate knuckles, the soft skin that I’d kissed. I stared at her palm in mine, small in comparison, her skin fair and beautiful. I lifted my gaze and looked at her again.

  Visibly affected by my affection, her eyes were soft, soft like wilting rose petals in spring. Her fingers gently squeezed mine in return, like this touch was oxygen to her lungs, joy to her heart.

  It wasn’t that long ago that Fleur was right on my ass. Her hold was so deep in my flesh that her nails hit bone. Controlling and obsessed, she refused to let me go, using our physical compatibility to keep me anchored to her. The sex was good, explosive, and she liked to do things most women didn’t. That was the reason I’d stuck around as long as I did.

  Maybe my memory was warped by the present, but I didn’t remember the past in the same way, no longer saw the addictive pull of that relationship. It was just a shitshow to me. Nothing compared to what I had with Emerson.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Every day, I couldn’t wait until we got home so I could be on top of her, inside her, pressing her into my mattress so she could suffuse my sheets with her scent, erase all the women I couldn’t even remember. Her company satisfied me throughout the day, but when the clothes were gone and there was nothing separating us, it was a different kind of connection that satisfied the hunger of my soul. The world went quiet around me, and I was completely alive in the moment, absorbed by every move she made, every breath she took, every time she touched me. It was never about sex, but somehow, it gave me more pleasure than any physical relationship I’d ever had.

  How?

  Her thighs squeezed my hips as I rocked into her, my thrusts slow and deep, feeling her as deep as I could before I pulled back, only to do it again, getting the same reaction from her—again and again.

  My lips caressed hers in tender embraces, sometimes with tongue, but mostly just lips, just breaths. When she moaned into my mouth, the kiss paused altogether and we just breathed together, moaning in mutual desire because that emotional surge in our blood was just as good as the physical satisfaction of our bodies.

  I’d never had sex like this in my entire life.

  It’d never been slow like this, purposeful like this, more about the way we felt being together than the physical reaction of our bodies coming together at the perfect angle, with the perfect pressure.

  Her hands cupped my face before sliding into my hair, fingering the strands as she kissed me, as she panted through the pleasure I gave her. Her thighs squeezed me harder, and her ankles locked together against my lower back, pulling me a little closer because we weren’t already close enough.

  I knew her body well now, knew when it was time for her to explode around me. I could feel it in her kiss, sense it in the change in her breathing, the tightness around my length. It made me feel good to make her feel good, but it wasn’t another notch on my bedpost, another brick to add to my growing stack of ego. It just happened without my even trying, and once it happened, I wasn’t eager to finish. I wanted to keep going and going.

  She came around me with moans that echoed in my bedroom, pulling me closer to her, her face fucking gorgeous when she looked at me like that, like I was the only man who made her feel this way.

  She was certainly the only woman who made me feel this way.

  We writhed together as we finished, our deep breathing echoing in the dark, our sweaty limbs wrapped together, still clutching each other even though we’d been tightly together for nearly an hour.

  I eventually moved off her, trailing kisses down her body, over her stomach, the little scars at the bottom of her belly and tasting the sweat as I went. When I lay on the other side of the bed, I grabbed the glass of water sitting on the nightstand and took a deep drink, hydrating my dry throat.

  I came back to her and lay beside her, my head turned her way so I could see the sleepiness in her eyes, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her hard nipples as they pointed to the ceiling. Since she never slept over and always had to leave shortly after we were together, it almost felt like we were having an affair, that I could only have a piece of her and never all of her.

  Her hand slid over my chest as she turned toward me to cuddle despite the sweat that made our skin sticky. “You’re so beautiful…” Her fingers trailed over my chest, down the grooves of muscles of my stomach.

  My arm wrapped around her, and I cradled her close so I could kiss her forehead. “You’re the beautiful one, baby.” My hand moved over her ribs and down her stomach, getting the flesh against my palm so I could give her a gentle squeeze. She wasn’t flat and tight like most women I’d been with, but I liked it, loved every detail of her body.

  She chuckled quietly, like it was too ridiculous to believe. “You think a stomach is sexy?”

  “I think yours is.” I moved to her hip and gave that a squeeze too. “I think everything about you is sexy.” My fingers traced over the small scars of he
r stomach, the marks Lizzie must have made because she had a caesarian birth.

  “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed those…”

  “Why?”

  “I mean, scars aren’t pretty.”

  “They are if they’re yours.” She was always so confident, so I didn’t know where this unease came from. “These are from Lizzie?”

  She nodded. “I can’t see a man liking the scars another man gave me because I gave birth to his daughter…”

  My fingers stayed at the spot, surprised by the statement. My hand moved to her neck, and I tilted her head back so I could look her in the eye, read her expression while I replayed those words in my head. “That’s not what I see when I look at them. I see a woman who became a mother. And why is that a bad thing?”

  Softness slipped into her eyes. “I guess you aren’t like other men.”

  “I’m not when I’m with you.” If this were Fleur or somebody else, I’d probably find motherhood to be a turn-off. If I went on a date with someone and they said they were a single mother, I wouldn’t be interested at all. But it was different with Emerson, even when it shouldn’t be.

  She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at the clock sitting on my nightstand. “Ugh…I should go. I’ve got to get dinner on the table.”

  I hated it every time she left. I wanted us to stay this way, to have the night together, to make dinner and watch TV in the living room, to wake up the next day and go to work together. I was a busy man with so much shit to do, but I’d rather spend time with her than think about those things. But I didn’t complain—because this was how it had to be. “There’s something I need to tell you before you go.”

  She remained beside me, looking over at me, her hair hanging down the front of her shoulders. Her freckles were visible even in the dark, at the top of her cheeks, giving her beauty a dash of cuteness. “What is it?”

  “Since you’re going to meet my parents, there’s something I need to tell you about my mom.”

  “I’m sure she’s lovely, Derek. I’m not worried about it. I mean, she loved you as her own when she didn’t have to, and even if she’s difficult or judgmental, I’ll always feel affectionate toward her because of that. If she doesn’t like me, I’ll get her to like me.”